Living across the street from a farmer's market that is open every weekday.
Being able to walk almost everywhere I want.
Within an hour.
Being close to so many different countries.
Meeting so many different nationalities.
Picking up a few phrases of different lanuages.
My own room. And door. And lock.
Milka chocolate. And wawel. And wedel.
Pear sorbet.
People thanking me for correcting their English.
Their patience when I attempt what little I know of their language.
Four day weekends.
Smiling as I send postcards and take pictures and get souvenirs for others.
Architecture and daily views as I walk to/from everywhere.
The greenbelt park and organization of the city.
Making people laugh despite different cultures.
History and age.
How far my money goes.
The light switches.
24-hr clocks.
Lack of artificity in food.
Soda included.
Small feeling of victory I get from my plug adaptors working perfectly.
Watching the pride in other people's faces when they talk about their own culture and familiarity.
Telling people about what's "normal" for me.
Helping people understand where I come from of political issues.
That differing beliefs doesn't affect friendship.
That being American makes me a mythical creature.
Their grateful enthusiasm when I offer to show them around if they ever come to PNW.
Their sincere offer to show me around, and insistence that I come back.
The meat I buy that goes into my made-up pasta dish.
Being part of a crowd walking all over the road, because cars don't do down that road.
Walking past tourists and hearing snatches of native English.
Helping tourists find what they want.
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